Three of a Kind
by MagicInHerMadness
Summary: One shot c collection. Three different versions of significant Olitz moments from three different POVs. All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes and Co
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my second story. It's told from three different distinct points of view but they are all detailing the same event. I really like the way this is done and I hope you all do too. It's a little longer than I expected but the muse is a tricky thing to capture and once I did, I refused to let it go. Anyway, there's a lot of creative license taken. Please read and review and enjoy of course (:  
**

* * *

**Mellie  
**

_A/N about Mellie: I write Mellie as more human than SR does. She has begun portraying Mellie as a victim of sorts lately and it sickens me personally because Mellie made her own bed. She was a victim at one point but she stopped being one immediately when she decided to use her attack as a bargaining chip. But I digress. My Mellie is the Mellie from S1 and 2 and I find her easier to stomach this way._

It was hard not to notice the chemistry between them. Mellie stood across the ballroom, watching them together. His eyes were wide and glassy, his smile brimming with so much happiness that Mellie couldn't help but frown. Olivia seemed to glow around him and tonight, dressed in ivory silk that seemed to serve only to make her skin look even more flawless than usual, she was positively luminescent. She said something and he laughed like he had never anything funny before she opened her mouth. Mellie found herself smiling at them. Their happiness was infectious. When she remembered that he was her husband, that they were the ones who were supposed to have the infectious happiness, the corners of her mouth fell. It should have been her presence that made his eyes sparkle like sapphires and his cheeks rosy with adoration. It wasn't a matter of jealousy; it was a principle. He could be in love with anyone he liked and she wouldn't have given a damn. But he could at least have been courteous enough to pretend in front of people.

Someone asked them for a photo and he stepped back, casually wrapping his arm around her. To anyone else—to anyone who didn't know him—it was just the president posing for a picture with the woman who had made the White House a reality for him. But to someone who knew him well, someone who had spent years learning every look on his face and every shift of his moods, Mellie knew exactly what every little nonverbal cue meant. Fitz was in love, besotted with the petite woman smiling at the camera as he grinned like a teenage boy finally getting a chance to talk to his crush. The photographer was about to leave when Fitz offered the wiry man his iPhone to take another picture of him and Olivia. Mellie smirked when Olivia, the more restrained of the two, gave him a quizzical look. He just smiled and Mellie watched the resolve leave Olivia's pretty face. They grinned, standing a little closer than before, for the camera.

The photographer scurried away, grinning like a goon, and Olivia turned to look at Fitz, probably telling him the picture on his phone wasn't appropriate. Fitz tucked his hand in his pocket, the other reaching for her face but stopping short and falling on her shoulder. Mellie wasn't sure what Fitz was saying, his back partially turned to her, but whatever it was made Olivia's eyes go soft and her mouth open slightly. She reached up and squeezed the hand on her bare shoulder, whispered his name. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat so quickly that Mellie wasn't really sure it had happened. She smirked again. Those two seriously needed a crash course in subtlety.

Fitz's grin fell off his face as he walked over to her, Scotch in hand. He tried to call it back and ended up grimacing like a child being forced to smile for a picture, the happiness never reaching his eyes. He could grin like someone had stuck a hanger in his mouth for Olivia but for her—the woman who had been by his side since before he had the wherewithal to even consider himself good enough to lead, the woman who had given up her own political aspirations for him, the woman who had wasted her best years on him—he could only manage a lopsided smirk.

Luckily, a new song started up when he reached her and they were able to avoid a confrontation by dancing. Looking over his shoulder, she could see Olivia dancing with Billy Chambers. He was grinning at her the same way Fitz had been, probably making a fool of himself to get her to go on a date with him. She felt Fitz stiffen when they turned and he was the one looking at Olivia and Billy. Mellie grinned wickedly, and commented innocently, "They're a cute couple."

He made a noncommittal noise, and replied, "Billy's a good dancer."

"Do you think he's asking her out?" she asked. He clenched his jaw, turned them again so he wasn't looking at Olivia and her still-smiling dance partner. Fitz wasn't normally one for jealousy but Mellie could see the rage dancing in his eyes. She almost laughed. Olivia had turned him into a teenage boy again, seething like she had accepted someone else's offer to go steady. She decided to give him a break, announcing, "Well there's only one way to find out."

He caught up with her a moment after she strode purposefully in Billy and Olivia's direction. They stop waltzing and smiled at her. Mellie put on her best smile and asked, "Mind if I cut in? I'd love a go with the best dancer in the room."

She grinned as a look of relief swept over Olivia's face. Billy, ass-kisser he was, gave her an almost cartoonish smile. He placed one hand chastely on her lower back and they danced away, leaving Fitz and Olivia alone. Mellie wondered what he would say to her. She was thankful Billy didn't seem to have anything to say to her so she could watch Fitz be a brat. The song ended and she wished Billy all the luck in the world as he slithered away to con his way into someone's employment. She sipped champagne, watching Fitz frown, his hands stuck in his pockets, as he looked at Olivia like she had just accepted someone else's letterman jacket the night before the prom.

"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced as the orchestra played the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." Mellie's breath caught; it was Fitz's favorite song in the world. She watched him grin, read his lips as he told Olivia about the song. Olivia said something to him, glancing in Mellie's direction, probably telling him that he should dance to his favorite song with his wife. He declared "no" simply, and with that said, took her into his arms, his hand pressed to her bare lower back. Mellie had to admit the gown was gorgeous. It had a high demure neck and thin shoulder straps. When she originally saw it, Mellie had originally scoffed at its boring color and simple shape. When Olivia walked away after greeting her and Fitz at the door, revealing the dress's nonexistent back, Mellie almost dropped her glass of champagne. She had glanced at Fitz just in time to see his jaw go slack. A sharp nudge from her elbow had reminded him that everyone could see him drooling over the bare back of a woman who wasn't his wife.

They were certainly something to watch. He had a certain lightness and grace with Olivia that Mellie had seen in him. He was whispering in her ear, the two of them never missing a beat, and it occurred to Mellie that their connection wasn't something as sordid as good sex. While it was true that he seemed to have discovered some wealth of lifeblood between Olivia's "magical" thighs, he had found something else with her, something deeper. They apparently had the kind of love that Mellie had hoped would come when she agreed to his proposal some twenty years before he had even known of Olivia's existence. Mellie couldn't be angry about it—she chose to be, true enough—but inside she knew it hadn't been done maliciously.

She and Fitz weren't that. They weren't those people who had been together forever and were comfortable with the idea of spending an infinity of forevers together. They were too people who owed each other some debt that neither had the courage to claim. However, watching him smile as he talked to her then saunter out like someone had let him in on the world's best secret, she guessed that those doe eyes watching him leave would be the catalyst of Fitz calling her tab so he could get out. She smirked as she watched Olivia slip away a few minutes later, probably going to meet him somewhere the moon would shine on them as they made goo goo eyes at each other. He had found his missing piece and now Mellie didn't fit. But she wouldn't leave quietly. Love had made Fitz a damn fool, not her.

* * *

**Fitz**

Fitz wished he had known about Olivia's dress beforehand, or at the very least that he hadn't been standing next to his wife when he had first seen her in it. He might have been able to stop himself from devolving into a sixteen-year-old boy who couldn't keep his tongue from lolling out of his mouth at the sight of her bare back. The dimples on her lower back had him practically salivating. He wanted to run his tongue down her spine, to peel the thin straps off her shoulders and watch the silk pool around her ankles. He imagined she was naked under the dress—after all, it was cut so dangerously low in the back that any underwear she could have been wearing was negligible at best—but he couldn't stare at her long enough to decide if she really was without seeming like he was leering. Mellie's sharp elbow to his ribs had let him know that subtlety just wasn't a quality he possessed that night. Honestly, he was never subtle around Olivia. He just couldn't manage to keep his wits around her. Even then, he found himself staring at her, willing the dress to disappear. He cleared his throat, his face reddening at the thought, then decided to mingle to distract himself, moving in the opposite direction of his wife as he did so.

He found himself faced with her glorious back unexpectedly, having somehow managed to wander closer to her than he'd intended. She was talking to Cyrus's date, a bubbly reporter named James Novak, and he lingered behind her, enjoying her laugh. It wasn't easily gotten so he guessed that James was really funny. When James left, announcing he was going to dance with his "boyfriend," Fitz stepped close enough to run his finger down the valley of her spine. She jumped and whirled around, glaring like she was ready to throw a punch. When she saw it was him, she huffed, turning her back to him again. She was determined to leave him alone, to let him go, but that just couldn't be. Now that he had her, he couldn't imagine not having her. It had been easy to live before he had known her existence, but now that he had lived through the exquisite pain of loving someone so unattainable, his memory was split in two parts: before and after Olivia. The before seemed nothing short of tragic, the after nothing but constant thoughts of her.

"You look so beautiful," he murmured, aching to reach out and touch her again, any part of her he could get his hand on.

"Stop it," she whispered harshly. He was making small circles in the small of her back with his index finger. He stepped closer so he could peer down at her. Her eyelids fluttered, threatened to close. Her mouth formed a delicious "o," a moan on her pouty lips. She threw a look over her shoulder, her face flushed. A little firmer, she implored, "Stop it."

He snuck a kiss on her bare shoulder. She inhaled sharply. Her voice almost lethal, she murmured. "People can see you."

He glanced around. The place was crawling with press and Mellie was looking at him, but he didn't care. He was in love with her and he seriously considered just shouting to everyone that he was in love with her. He chuckled to himself, thinking that Olivia would probably stab him with something handy before the words got out of his mouth, and that if she didn't, Mellie definitely would. Mellie wouldn't let go of the White House until she had had her eight years, and he was willing to bet money that she would destroy anyone who jeopardized it. He stepped a little closer, almost close enough to rub against her magnificent backside, and murmured, "God I can't believe how beautiful you look Livvie."

"A photo for the _Times_, Mr. President? Ms. Pope?" a cheerful photographer asked, seemingly appearing from nowhere. The wiry man already had his camera poised. Fitz wasn't sure how to respond. Olivia nodded graciously. It would have looked suspicious if they declined. Fitz stepped so that he wasn't behind her anymore, casually wrapping his left arm around her, his fingers clasping her thin bicep. Her skin was warm and he could smell the pomegranate scent wafting off her hair. The photographer didn't even blink when his hand slipped off her shoulder, his hot palm pressed to the small of her back, but he could swear he felt Olivia's breathe hitch. He snapped two pictures then blubbered his thanks.

Just as he turned to leave, Fitz quickly pulled out his black iPhone and requested, "One more, please."

The photographer was flabbergasted at the idea of using the President's phone. He sheepishly took it and snapped their picture quickly, exclaiming, "I can't believe I'm holding the President's iPhone! I can't wait to tweet this!"

He gave the phone back and floated away. Fitz smiled at the picture. Olivia frowned at him, and asked, "What was that?"

"I don't have any pictures of you," he replied as if it made complete sense. He hoped she would let it go but he knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. She wore the white hat constantly it seemed.

"You don't because you shouldn't," she deadpanned. Fitz put the phone in his pocket, leaving his hand there.

He sighed. He was so tired of their love being a secret, a burden that hung around his neck like the albatross worn by the ancient mariner. He glanced around. No one seemed to be looking at them. He reached out to touch her face but remembered where they were and settled for her shoulder. She looked from his hand to his face and her eyes softened. "Livvie, I don't have any pictures of you when you're just waking up and your hair is a mess, or when you're angry and you pout in that cute way you do, or random pictures of you snapped when you least expect it. This one isn't what I want but it's what I've got. It's all I've got. Don't take that from me."

She looked like she might cry, her coffee brown eyes glassy. Her top lip quivered and he wanted to hold her so badly. He couldn't tell her that the picture meant the world to him, that he already knew he would spend a little time each day staring at the picture, memorizing every little detail of her. She didn't realize that that picture was all he had. It was the only proof he had that he wasn't just a fool pining away for a pair of wide brown eyes with eyelashes that curled back to the lid, that he wasn't crazy for thinking he had found a love he hadn't even known he'd been looking for. When he told her that, she he had laughed, and instantly he knew. She was what was missing. Her eyes always held a question to be answered, and he hoped to one day declare to them, "I do."

She reached up and squeezed his hand. It was all she could give at the moment. She half-whimpered, "Fitz, I…"

He brushed the hollow of her throat with his thumb so quickly that his hand was gone before her eyes registered the thought. She crossed her arms, tried to put up a wall to keep herself from falling apart. He knew what she wanted but he couldn't leave, not just yet, not when his sweet baby was splintering into so many pieces right before his eyes. She swallowed, blinked hard. "Go…please…"

Fitz nodded, left reluctantly in search of Mellie. He didn't care for the dog and pony show but he needed to keep up appearances. He tried to smile at his wife but she made him as cold inside and she was outside. Luckily, the orchestra started a waltz and they simply danced instead of forcing conversation. He stiffened, hot bile boiling in his stomach when he saw Olivia dancing with Billy Chambers. He didn't have any particular dislike for Billy but at that moment, Fitz could have slit his throat and watched him squirt blood like a fountain. Billy said something and Olivia laughed.

"They're a cute couple," Mellie declared.

Fitz grunted. "Billy's a good dancer."

"Do you think he's asking her out?" Mellie asked. Fitz hoped he wasn't but was sure that he was. He wondered what Olivia would say, if she would agree for the sake of appearances. Fitz shrugged, not wanting to talk about Olivia being with someone else. Mellie announced, "There's only one way to find out."

With that said, she strode determinedly across the ballroom towards them. Fitz hurried to keep up once he realized what she was up to. When she reached them, the song had just ended. Putting on a positively saccharine smile, she asked, "Mind if I cut in? I'd love a go with the best dancer in the room."

Before he had a chance to reply, Mellie whisked Billy away, leaving Fitz alone with Olivia. He smirked at the relief on her face when the musicians took a momentary rest. She didn't want to dance with him and he couldn't say that he blamed her. They lost all subtlety when they touched—not that they had much to begin with. She had more resolve than he did, but she was only human, and though she wouldn't breathe it aloud unless they were making love, he knew how she felt about him.

"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced as the orchestra played the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River," Fitz's favorite song. His mother used to play it all the time before she died. She'd taught him to waltz to it.

He smiled at Olivia. "This is my favorite song in the world."

"You should go dance with your wife, Mr. President," she replied evenly. He guessed that she had assumed the song had something to do with his and Mellie's relationship. She was jealous. He had never wanted to kiss her pouty mouth more.

"Livvie…please," he half-whispered, his hand instinctively going to her waist. Her chocolate doe eyes softened, her lips parting as he pulled her to him. He could swear he felt a shiver run through her. She tried to maintain an appropriate amount of space but he pulled her as close as he could for a waltz. He breathed in her scent, pomegranate shampoo, vanilla lotion, womanly perfume. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to hold her long enough to inhale her magical scent. It was an aroma he would never forget.

It was a culmination of his favorite moments and memories: holding his Livvie, and the memory of his mother humming that song. Olivia and his mother were the only two people who ever sought to understand him, who didn't want anything from him, who believed in him. Mellie was practically a glacier, her eyes all judgment and contempt. Olivia seemed to understand that even the greatest heroes failed and she always helped him put the pieces back together, even when he had been the one to tear the walls down.

Her skin was warm. Her hand on his shoulder was light. No one would ever have guessed there was anything between them, but there it hung as they danced, so many things wanting and needing to be said, so many feelings.

"Stop looking at me," she muttered, her eyes fixed on his shoulder.

"Why?" he muttered back.

"Because people are looking at you look at me and," she stopped and smiled as they waltzed past the Canadian prime minister and his wife then continued, "the look on your face is incredibly inappropriate."

"You look beautiful tonight, Livvie," he replied as if he hadn't heard her. He almost hadn't. Between her scent and the warmth of her bare skin, he was barely able to focus on anything that was going on around him.

"Fitz…stop." He could practically see her resolve waning as her eyes softened. The song ended and they clapped for the musicians.

"Our spot. Ten minutes."

"You can't leave your own state dinner."

"Watch me." With that said, he sauntered out of the ballroom. Cyrus called after him but he waved dismissively. Tom caught up to him quickly.

"Something wrong sir?" he asked.

"Just taking a break," Fitz replied. Tom nodded then walked ahead of Fitz to take his post outside the Oval Office door. Fitz entered the office and sat behind his desk, swiveling the chair so he could stare out the window behind the desk. A waning crescent moon peeked from behind thin clouds. He hoped it rained. Olivia loved the rain. He found himself humming "Moon River" for a while before it occurred to him that it had been a while and she still wasn't there. He was about to send Tom to look for her when he heard the door open and close. Her scent wafted to him as she stormed across the office.

"You can't do that," she hissed, aware of the cameras. "People are looking for you. Cyrus is on the verge of an aneurism."

"I'll go back," he replied casually, "at some point."

She walked around the desk and looked out the window at the moon. He stood, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her shoulder.

"Fitz we can't," she whispered, practically trembling. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her heavenly aroma.

"I've missed you," he murmured. "You should come back."

"We won't get anything done," she replied, interlacing her fingers with his at her waist. "Besides, we're supposed to be letting go, remember?"

"And yet, here we are." She laughed and he did too. He loved her laugh. It was a rarity, a prize, and every time he made it happen, he fell a little more in love with her. She turned around in his arms, leaning her tiny frame against that of the window. He traced the outline of her mouth with his thumbs, pulling the corners upward, his palms cradling her face. The smile remained, reaching her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Hi," she said in a soft voice, her eyes chocolate pools of affection.

"Hi."

* * *

**Olivia**

Olivia could feel his eyes on her as she walked into the ballroom and exchanged pleasantries with Mellie. She wasn't sure exactly how Mellie felt about her. But then again, she wasn't really sure how Mellie felt about anything. The First Lady was a cornucopia of facades and pretext, one that Olivia found both intriguing and repulsive. She had smiled at Fitz, called him Mr. President in a voice meant to convey the message _No I haven't seen you naked_ to anyone who happened to be listening. His eyes killed the platonic air between them and she moved away quickly. Throughout the evening, she kept her eyes on him, always moving in the opposite direction. She finally relaxed when she found James pouting in a corner. Upon asking what was wrong, she discovered that Cyrus had refused to match bow ties with him, an incident that apparently carried some monumental sentiment of which Olivia was unaware. Fitz made eye contact with her from across the room and she smiled thinly, looking away as soon as she could. He looked good, beyond good, dressed in a tux that looked like God had tailored it personally. After convincing James to apologize to Cyrus because the older man would never be the one to give in, she looked around again. She cursed internally when she realized she had lost sight of him. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his index finger travelling down the valley of her spine.

"You look so beautiful," he murmured.

"Stop it," she mumbled, her face hot. The other made small circles in the small of her back. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering as they threatened to close. A moan crawled up her throat, an unholy warmth spreading through her body. Her heartbeat hammered in her core, throbbing a sensuous rhythm she was sure he could hear. She had to stop him before she came undone. Firmer, she hissed, "Stop it."

The place was crawling with press, and the president whispering sweet nothings in an ear that didn't belong to his first lady was definitely a Kodak moment that definitely didn't need to be captured. Just as she was about to reach back and pinch the hand enjoying the lamb-soft skin of her lower back, a wiry photographer materialized out of thin air, his camera poised, his Buddy Holly glasses perched on his beak nose. "A photo for the _Times_, Mr. President? Ms. Pope?"

Fitz looked at her for approval. She nodded graciously. It would have raised some questions if they had declined. Fitz moved so that he was standing beside her, his arm wrapped casually around her shoulders. Her breathe caught when his hand slipped from her shoulders to her lower back, his hot palm pressed against her cool flesh. They smiled happily and the photographer snapped a picture then examined it. He snapped another, professing his thanks, then turned to leave. Fitz's voice stopped him, "One more please."

The thin man looked down at Fitz's iPhone then took it sheepishly, exclaiming, "I can't believe I'm holding the President's iPhone! I can't wait to tweet this!"

He snapped their picture then scampered away in search of other photo-worthy moments. Olivia turned to look at Fitz, smirking at him as he smiled at their picture. He was so sentimental. She loved and hated that about him. Still, his smile was so genuine, so sweet on his handsome face, that she wanted to kiss him. She loved his face. She could probably spend the next few eternities staring at his ice blue eyes, and committing the exact color of his lips to memory. She wanted to count his eyelashes and trail kisses along the curve of his jaw and the bridge of his nose. But nothing about his handsomeness made his current carelessness excusable.

She asked, "What was that?"

He sighed and she saw the clouds roll into his eyes. He was tired of hiding. She wasn't sure they could make it out in the open. Things were surprisingly easy to do in the shadows, and a handful of stolen moments could seem like love when they weren't scrutinized by the light of day. He said, "Livvie, I don't have any pictures of you when you're just waking up and your hair is a mess, or when you're angry and you pout in that cute way you do, or random pictures of you snapped when you least expect it. This one isn't what I want but it's what I've got. It's all I've got. Don't take that from me."

Her eyes softened and she felt that all too familiar tug at her heartstrings. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, blinked away tears that threatened to spill over. He reached out to touch her face but stopped short, remembered where they were, and settled for caressing her shoulder. She wanted to lay his head on her chest and run her fingers through his hair, and make him a million promises about all the things to come when they made it to Vermont. She reached up and squeezed his shoulder, whispered, "Fitz, I…"

His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat so quickly that she wasn't even sure the touch was real until the familiar warmth spread through her body. His touch always threatened to turn her into a pile of dust boasting nothing but a wanting heart clinging to a handful of minutes that were all she really had of him. If it wasn't for the fingertip-sized bruises that littered her hips like constellations after they made love, and the sheets that she slept in shamefully for days after he'd gone because the scent of his soap and cologne lingered like the smell of just-fallen rain, there was almost no record that he had ever been with her. But there he was, standing in front of her in the flesh, his neediness almost mirroring her own, his heart set on one picture of them. She couldn't have taken it from him even if she'd truly wanted to, not if he was going to smile that way.

She wanted to tell him so many things, to make so many promises she would die trying to keep, but it wasn't the time or the place to delve into that. She looked at him again and her stomach knotted. No, the place wasn't the problem. Neither was the time. She never talked about her feelings for him, not even when they threatened to leap from her lips regardless to her intentions. There were words—God, were there words. Her whole life was words. People paid handsomely for her words. Cyrus's appreciation for her words was what brought her into his life. There were words—God, were there words—but not for him. Never for him. With one look, he turned every declaration, hot and beautiful in her mind and heart and the pit of her stomach, into gobbledygook in her mouth.

"Go," she whispered. He squeezed her shoulder then went to Mellie. Every time she saw them together, her heart shattered and she hated herself for loving him with all the fractured pieces. Olivia sighed and went to get champagne.

Billy Chambers appeared as if from nowhere, grinning gleefully. He was a nice enough man but something about him made Olivia terribly uncomfortable. His smile never reached his eyes and he was far too polite. Olivia generally avoided him but he managed to catch her by surprise. That was another thing she didn't like about him: he moved around far too stealthily for her taste, like he was intentionally trying to be unseen and unheard. He grinned like The Joker as he filled her flute with champagne, "Well you look gorgeous."

Olivia smiled politely. "Thank you Billy."

The orchestra started playing. Billy beamed. Olivia tried not to cringe.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked hopefully. He was handsome but there was something cartoonish about his features. There was also something hilariously sinister about his sharply angled face. Olivia almost laughed aloud when she pictured him in a purple zoot suit, declaring, "It's simple; we kill the Batman."

She found herself dancing with him twice. He was chattering incessantly about a subject that was lost to Olivia before it even came out of his mouth. She was too busy watching Fitz dance with Mellie. The First Lady's head lay on her husband's shoulder and Olivia felt hot tears searing her eyes and throat. She watched him too long. He felt her eyes. He looked up, long and wanting, his eyes desperate to say words he wasn't close enough to utter. Olivia got the prickly feeling that she was being stared at. She blinked away from Fitz and found Billy watching her intently with that Joker grin still plastered on his face.

"What?" She tried to force a smile onto her face.

"I'm just trying to figure out how I can sexually harass you and get away with it," he replied.

"Billy…" She glanced at Fitz. He was watching them intently, his mouth set in a hard line, his body moving on autopilot.

"What? You could date me. I don't work here anymore. I'm a nice guy. I'm a _phenomenal_ dancer if the instructors at Andover are to be believed." He was smiling so hard, Olivia wanted to rip his lips off his face just to make him stop.

"Mind if I cut in? I'd certainly like a go with the best dancer in the room." Olivia had never been so delighted to hear Mellie's saccharine voice. She made eye contact with Fitz over Mellie's shoulder. He was frowning at Billy.

"Anything for the First Lady," Billy chirped. He and Mellie danced away, amicably chatting one carton villain to another. The song ended and Olivia felt a rush of relief that she didn't have to dance with Fitz. She couldn't bear it, not tonight, not when his heart was on his sleeve.

"This one is for the Commander in Chief himself," the conductor announced. The crowd applauded the opening notes of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." Fitz's face lit up. Olivia wondered what significance the song held for him. She prayed it wasn't something to do with Mellie but her cynical side told her that it had to be. She started thinking of reasons to leave so she wouldn't have to watch him be romantic with someone else. She couldn't watch him look at someone else the way he looked at her; her heart wouldn't survive it. But he made no move to leave her.

"This is my favorite song in the world," he said in a nostalgic voice, like the song called up another lifetime for him. Olivia wondered what it was, if she fit into it at all. "My mom sang it all the time when I was growing up. She even taught me to dance to it."

Olivia's eyes softened. She watched him become a curly-haired boy again as he listened to the song. Her eyes grew glassy and her lip quivered. She didn't want to cry but she wasn't sure if she could hold it back with him looking like that. She croaked, "You should dance with your wife, Mr. President."

"No," he said simply. He pulled her into his arms and she closed her eyes for a moment as he moved them to the music. She breathed in the strong soapy scent of his skin, the light cologne sprayed on his suit, the heady musky scent that was all him, and something inside her broke. She squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the moment to last forever. This moment wasn't stolen or hidden in the shadows. This one was all their own and she needed to ingrain every millisecond into her memory. His heart thumped rhythmically in her ear. She could listen to it for the rest of her life and never tire of its monotony.

He tapped her side ever so subtly and she opened her eyes, remembered they were in front of people. She looked up at him and found him staring down at her with a look that said everything she had just been feeling. She glanced around and found people looking innocently. No one seemed to think anything was inappropriate was taking place. She took a deep breath and stepped back, putting an appropriate amount of space.

"Stop looking at me," she muttered.

"Why?" he whispered back.

"Because people are looking at you look at me," she paused and smiled as the Canadian prime minister and his wife waltzed by, "and the look on your face is incredibly inappropriate."

"You look beautiful tonight Liv," he murmured as if he hadn't heard her.

"Fitz…stop," she almost whined. He made her weak, weaker than she ever wanted to be. The song ended and they clapped with everyone else after she pulled away a little too quickly.

"Our spot. Ten minutes," he said, his lips barely moving.

"You can't leave your own state dinner."

"Watch me." She watched him strut out of the ballroom then locked eyes with Cyrus, whose face reddened to an alarming shade. A few minutes later, she slipped out of the ballroom too. Tom was standing outside the Oval office the way he always was. He nodded at her and she smiled.

When she entered the room, she found him sitting in his chair, staring at the moon, humming "Moon River." She shook her head at him. Beneath all his straight-laced bravado, he was just an idyllic man-child who wanted to live the American Dream in Small Town, USA…with her. She smiled at the tail end of her thought. When she remembered who and what they were, the corners of her mouth fell. He was the leader of the free world and she wasn't supposed to be in love with him. She cleared her throat, "You can't do that. People are looking for you."

"I'll go back…at some point," he replied. She walked around the desk to stand between him and the window. The iridescent moon blinked between rolling cloud. The stars twinkled like they knew she and Fitz needed a little hope for the night. He stood, wrapped his arms around her. "I've missed you. You should come back."

"We won't get anything done," she replied. It was true. They couldn't be with each other for more than five minutes without someone losing what little self-control they both possessed and pawing each other like horny teenagers who only had a few minutes of privacy. She stammered, "Besides, we're supposed to be letting go…remember?"

"And yet, here we are." She laughed. He did too. She turned around in his arms and leaned against the window frame. His closeness spread warmth throughout her body and she found herself trembling with anticipating of any touch from his glorious hands. He cupped her face in his hands, using his thumbs to trace the outline of her lips, pulling the corners of her mouth up. She smiled at him, her eyes wide. She never let him see how soft she truly she was. But there, in the moonlight pouring through his window, barely lighting the dark office, her heart lay bare for him.

"Hi."

He smiled, his eyes glowing like sapphires. He looked like there was no other place he would rather be. And though this was another stolen moment, another secret to hide from everyone, it was the kind of secret she didn't mind keeping. "Hi."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So this is my second chapter. I wasn't going to continue but everyone seemed to like it so much that I wrote another one shot. It's still three POVs of the same event. This one is set on the trail. There's a lot of creative license taken. I really hope you guys like it. Enjoy and please review XOXO**

**Mellie**

The campaign bus was hell for her. Between the chattering interns and her general aversion to any form of public transit—even a luxury charter bus—Mellie was sure these campaign trail road trips would be the death of her. She zipped the jacket of her black track suit and hoisted her Louis Vuitton overnight bag onto her shoulder as she boarded the bus. The interns—happy-go-lucky college kids, the future Republicans of America—all chirped greetings. She smiled thinly at them, happy her sunglasses hid her bleary, contempt-filled eyes. She momentarily wished she was the sort of woman who carried a flask, or at the very least that she had a Valium prescription.

_Where the hell is Fitz?_ she thought as she looked around the bus. Then she spotted his curly head at the back of the bus. He was on his knees on the second to last row of seats, his back to her as he talked spiritedly to someone on the last row of seats—a row Mellie had hoped to secure for herself to sleep on for the majority of the ride to Tennessee. He shifted and she saw that it was Olivia who was apparently making her husband's day with whatever conversation they were having. Fitz laughed, harder than Mellie had ever seen, and she wondered what was so funny. He gabbed on with Olivia, his smile permanent. Mellie watched, wondering what had turned her usually petulant husband into a giddy teenager. Then she saw Olivia's radiant smile. _He likes her_, Mellie realized. It was like high school again, watching the boy she liked like someone else. She and Fitz weren't a typical couple but Mellie had always assumed twenty plus years and two children had earned her the courtesy of him not falling for someone else.

She finally made her way to the back of the bus and cleared her throat. Olivia seemed almost startled. Fitz looked like a child whose balloon had just been burst. Mellie gave them both a tight smile. She looked from one of them to the other, "Morning Fitz, Liv."

"Good morning Mellie." Olivia smiled but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Morning Mel." He barely looked at her as he stood and moved into the aisle, stopping to place a dry peck on the corner of her mouth. She couldn't remember the last time he had kissed her on the mouth. Or the last time she'd wanted him to. Before moving to a different row, he looked over his shoulder, a goofy grin on his face, and chirped, "Talk to you later."

Mellie joined him on the row of seats in front of the bathroom, guessing that he had picked it and chosen to take the aisle seat because of its proximity to a certain pair of doe eyes. He looked so dejected, like he was in time out sitting next to her. A hot second away from his little girlfriend and he was ready to throw a fit. Mellie smirked at him, wondering how it was that someone in their 50's could be such a toddler.

"We should talk about what we're going to wear in Chattanooga," she said. He glanced at her then returned to his phone.

"Whatever you want is fine," he replied.

"You could at least pretend to care, Fitz," she replied, exasperated. He hadn't always been so sullen. There was a time when he really tried for her. But that was two decades and countless little wounds that never healed ago. They were different people now, colder than she'd ever remembered them being. He sighed, put his phone in his pocket. She blinked at him. "I was thinking yellow for spring, and maybe gray because you look so nice in it."

He made a noncommittal noise, his hand already going for his phone again. He stopped and looked up at her. "Liv…Olivia was thinking that we should wear more red to show party pride."

"I don't look good in red," Mellie said more to herself than him. "But maybe a little tanning lotion will help."

She hated the way red made her look sallow, but if a red dress got her into the White House, she would paint her body crimson. It didn't escape her notice that Fitz had referred to Olivia as "Liv," something he had never done before. She wondered what it meant, what boundaries her husband had been toying with in her absence. She turned to look out the window at the east Texas farms blurring by. She watched him lean forward in his seat and look back at the last row of seats. Olivia looked up, apparently feeling his eyes on her, and a glimmer of a smile flashed over her face. They were like horny teenagers. Mellie rolled her eyes then pulled the shade down on her window. She retrieved the pillow from her bag, pulling out her grey cashmere throw as well, then settled herself in for a nap, her sunglasses sill on her face. She would have preferred a stiff drink in a dark bar, but she took what she could get.

"Mellie, wake up, we're stopping." Mellie opened her eyes, removed her sunglasses as she looked around. It was dark. She wondered just how long she'd been asleep. She frowned as she squinted at the fluorescent restaurant sign: IHOP.

She tried not to scowl. She hated breakfast food. She uncoiled from the seat, stretching as she stood. She yawned, found her sunglasses. She didn't care how she looked walking around at night with them on, not when the restaurant would undoubtedly be blindingly bright. Once inside the restaurant, she made a bee-line for the bathroom. She was surprised to find Olivia there washing her hands when she emerged from the stall.

"I hate breakfast food," she volunteered as she moved to the sink to wash her own hands.

Olivia looked at her in surprise. "Really? I could eat pancakes all day."

"Brunch I can manage. But breakfast? Never." Mellie ran her fingers through her hair, subtly looking Olivia over as she did. She was wearing an oversized army green waffle-knit sweater, dark denim jeggings, and camel colored UGGs. She ever wore a little mascara and mulberry-colored lipstick. How she managed to look so put together was beyond Mellie. She recalled barely being able to put in her contacts that morning when she was awakened for the plane's landing. Jet-lagged was an understatement.

"Maybe you're just not a morning person," Olivia offered with a half-smile.

"Understatement," Mellie replied with a dry chuckle. She was more of a Happy Hour person. If morning happened around then, she could have been a colossal morning person.

They left the bathroom, headed for the "large party" section where the interns were pushing together tables to accommodate everyone. Fitz sat opposite Cyrus at the middle table, smiling and chatting while everyone else worked, like he was Jesus. She watched his eyes light up then followed his gaze to Olivia who was retrieving chairs.

"Hey Liv, I saved you a seat," he called. She looked up from the chair she had just moved, smiled hesitantly, then went to sit by him. He stood and pulled her chair out then scooted it in, both of them grinning like they were on a first date. Olivia thanked him politely, smiling just so. Fitz's ears blazed crimson like she'd promised him something. He stammered, "You're welcome, Liv. No problem at all. My pleasure really…"

Olivia laughed at his nervousness. Mellie rolled her eyes as she stalked over. She plopped into the seat to Fitz's left, smirking when he cleared his throat and sat up straighter, turning his body to face forward instead of toward Olivia.

"Hungry?" he asked her, almost sounding like he cared to hear the answer. She noticed his arm casually draped over the back of Olivia's chair. He truly had no subtlety.

She smirked. "You know I hate breakfast food."

"Oh yeah." He chuckled. "I forgot."

It seemed he lost track of everything when Olivia was near. Even then, he was already turning away from her to smile at Olivia. He asked, "How do you fell about breakfast food?"

She smiled at him and Mellie could swear he blushed like a teenage boy. "I could eat pancakes all day."

_Of course Little Miss Size 0 loves carbs,_ Mellie thought, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. Fitz laughed like he had never heard anything so funny. He replied, "I'm more of a waffle man myself."

When the waiter got around to them, Mellie ordered a fruit plate and water. Fitz ordered waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Olivia ordered pancakes, hashbrowns, and turkey bacon.

"Turkey bacon?" Fitz asked, smirking at her. Mellie contemplated stabbing him in the hand with her fork.

"It's better for you than pork," Olivia answered.

"But it's not real bacon." He laughed. Olivia only chuckled lightly. Fitz looked from her mouth to her eyes. Mellie had never seen him so moony. He commented, "You don't laugh a lot."

"Republicans aren't born with a sense of humor," she replied with a smirk. Mellie almost her tiny wink at him. Fitz turned crimson again.

"You're a Republican?" he asked.

"As long as I'm working for one." It was the third time he laughed at her like she had told him the best joke. Mellie contemplated moving, or smacking him. Instead, she just looked away from them. They were making her sick.

Luckily the food started coming out and she had something else to focus on besides Fitz's devolution into a sixteen-year-old boy. She had almost shattered her water glass from sheer tightness of grip as she resisted the urge to slap him when he promised Olivia that he would get a genuine laugh out of her before the night was over, even if he had to make a complete ass of himself. _You never made an ass of yourself for me,_ Mellie thought bitterly as she picked at her fruit.

He got a chuckle out of Olivia with his favorite family story in which he forgot little Gerry at Publix. Mellie didn't find his negligence particularly amusing but the interns were in tears. Even Cyrus was hooting and hollering, but Mellie guessed the flask in his breast pocket was more to thank for his jovial attitude than Fitz's little comedy routine.

"Okay, I wasn't going to do this, but I'm about to break out the rarely heard Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III joke collection," he announced. He smiled smugly at Olivia. "Get ready to bust a gut."

"I'll try not to die of anticipation," she replied, looking at him like she wanted to kiss his incisors out of his mouth.

"Okay. Joke one. A man and woman get married one evening. The man buys a new white horse to pull his carriage to their new house. They're riding along and the horse stumbles. The man says, 'That's one.' The horse pulls it together and they keep riding along. The horse stumbles again, and the man says, 'That's two.' The horse pulls it together again and they keep riding. About halfway to the house, the horse stumbles again. The man stops the carriage, says, 'That's three,' then gets out, and shoots the horse. His new wife gets out, screaming and carrying on about him killing the horse. He looks her dead in the eyes—completely serious—and says, 'That's one.'"

Cyrus and the interns were practically convulsing. Even Mellie found herself laughing. Fitz had charisma if nothing else. Mellie couldn't deny that. Olivia chuckled a little as she looked at Fitz. "Try again, Governor."

Fitz scoffed. "Oh come on, Liv. That's my best joke."

Olivia shrugged, smiling innocently. Mellie commented that _she _thought the joke was hilarious, giving his arm a gentle pat, pouring on the "doting wife" routine. He glanced at her and nodded. Only Olivia's laughter mattered it seemed. He ate his waffles, picked at his eggs. Mellie ate her fruit, offering him a chunk of watermelon—his favorite fruit—but he declined. She rolled her eyes a moment later when he began eating off Olivia's plate, sampling her hashbrowns, taking a strip of her bacon when he promptly declared was the most "vile" thing he had ever eaten.

"It only tastes bad because you stole it," Olivia declared.

He smiled innocently, like a boy scout, fixed her with his best puppy dog eyes. "My sincerest apologies ma'am."

"I suppose it's okay. It'll make a nice story someday. The President stole my turkey bacon."

His eyes widened, gleaming like new pennies, and he blushed from his neck to his hairline. Olivia beamed bashfully, looking away from him. Mellie saw him nudge her knee with his own under the table. She frowned. She had never seen him so giddy and nervous, not even with her. All her usually offered her were intervals of silence or sarcasm—usually the opposite of whatever she was offering him at the time—but there he was, falling all over himself for a pair of big brown eyes.

After a few minutes, he perked up. "Okay. Joke two. A guys goes to a brothel and meets this prostitute with a glass eye. She agrees to an hour for a hundred dollars, but only under the condition that they keep the lights off. The guys says okay and they do their thing. So time goes on and he becomes a regular customer. One day, his best friend asks him to set him up with the prostitute. So he does. And they both become regular customers. After a visit, the second guy asks, 'Why does she always insist on having the light off.' The first guy doesn't know but it starts to bother him. So he and the other guy decide they're going to find out what she's hiding. They both go to the brothel one afternoon and the first guy goes into the room with the prostitute. After about twenty minutes, the second guy bursts in and turns on the light. He screams bloody murder. The first guy does too."

Fitz stopped and looked around the table. "Any guesses on what they saw?"

Mellie was blushing. She didn't even know Fitz knew such off-color jokes. She suggested, "The hooker is a man?"

He shook his head dismissively. He looked at Olivia hopefully. "Well?"

"You got me. I was thinking she was a man, too," Olivia replied.

"She wasn't a man," he declared, looking around the table again. The interns were on pins and needles. Fitz continued, "Well she might have been. I can't say. She wasn't naked. She _was_, however, missing her glass eye."

A moment of silence followed by a raucous eruption of laughter. He looked so satisfied with himself. Mellie watched him slowly look around the table before his eyes landed on Olivia. He was practically shaking with anticipation. He finally blurted, "Well?"

She smirked at him for a moment for collapsing into a fit of giggles. Her head fell back, her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks. Fitz beamed like he had won the election, proudly announcing, "Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a real, live, in-person Olivia Pope laugh!"

Olivia finally pulled herself together, breathlessly conceding, "You win, Governor."

Later, on the bus, Mellie lay under her blanket with her head against her willow on the window. She sat almost perfectly still, smirking in the near blackness as Fitz crept from his seat to the row of seats ahead of Olivia's. He couldn't be away from her for more than a few hours it seemed. He wrapped himself in his blanket and settled into the seats. She watched him smile as they murmured to each other. She heard him whisper goodnight, and when she removed her sunglasses to peer at them, they were both asleep.

Olivia wasn't awful, that was the problem. It would have been easy to hate her—to deem her a man-stealing, home-wrecking whore—but she wasn't. She was so many things, too many things-elegant, intelligent, funny if Fitz was to be believed, and beautiful—but she wasn't a whore. She guessed from their dynamics that Fitz was the pursuer in their relationship. Mellie was cynical and could be catty when she pleased, but even she couldn't deny Olivia's radiant skin and gorgeous almond-shaped eyes. She could see why Fitz was smitten with her smile. Olivia was even polite to her, something not a lot of women would have had the class to do if they were involved with someone's husband. Mellie wracked her brain for something mean, something angry, something hateful she could brand Olivia with, but she couldn't find one nasty thing to say. In another life, she and Olivia might have actually been friends.

Fitz falling for someone else wasn't necessarily a terrible thing. Olivia seemed to give him a certain liveliness that Mellie had never seen in him. For Olivia, he was wittier, more charming, a harder worker—a man who could be President. So long as he didn't concoct any ideas about trading her in for a younger model, Mellie wouldn't object to Olivia's presence in his life. If he did, however, get it in his idyllic head that Olivia would reap the benefits of the ground work she had spent years laying, there would be hell to pay.

In Chattanooga, Fitz was in bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the cameras, an absolute delight. Mellie wondered if it was because he had finally figured out the secret to making Olivia laugh almost on command. They were like teenagers who liked each other but couldn't admit it yet, dancing around each other with flirtatious glances and too-friendly laughs.

At a rally, a woman offered Fitz her baby, coincidentally named Fitzgerald too, and he had melted America's heart, bouncing the chubby tot and cooing at him with a delighted look on his face. Mellie personally didn't care for babies—they were fine to look at but not so much to hold—but she put on the right face for the cameras. She looked around, making sure everyone was having the right reaction, and her eyes fell on Olivia. She wasn't smiling. She was staring at Fitz like her uterus had skipped a beat. Mellie looked back at Fitz just in time to see him turn his eyes to Olivia, his eyes saying, _This could be ours someday. _

A few days later, after some scurrilous comments about the lack of heat between her and Fitz, Mellie was stumped. She didn't know to how to create a spark where there was nothing but general annoyance and resentment. But Olivia had suggested they touch more, and Fitz was trying for her. Mellie wondered what it was about Olivia that turned Fitz into Captain Capable, but she didn't dislike it. It was that attitude that would get them the White House.

When Fitz took the stage at a rally that night, hastily planned by Olivia as a Hail Mary of sorts to save their free-falling marriage approval ratings, he was confident, glowing even. Olivia had commandeered a plain red tie for him from a baffled intern and placed it around his neck, and he was wearing it like Superman wore his cape. He actually _looked_ like the President, swaggering to the podium with an easy grin on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been a lot of talk about my relationship as of late. Pictures don't capture the truth, and sound bites don't do it justice. I can't tell you what to think or how to feel about it. What I can say," his eyes drifted to the side of the stage where Olivia stood next to Cyrus, "is that I'm a man in love with an incredible woman."

The crowd erupted and Fitz beamed. Mellie slapped a smile on her face, but her insides were cold. He was gone and never coming back. She frowned as he and Olivia stared at each other. His smile only reached his eyes when she broke into a grin too, clapping for him excitedly.

Later, after noticing his absence from the celebration of the newly rebounding poll numbers, she went looking for him. He wasn't in their room or at the hotel bar. She found him at the end of the hall to the right of the conference room where the party was being held, standing so close to her, practically touching noses with her, ensconced in their own little world while he murmured against her lips. She couldn't hear what he was saying but Olivia was agreeing to whatever it was eagerly. Mellie cleared her throat and Olivia startled so badly that she almost head butted Fitz. Mellie almost laughed. Instead, she told them that the new poll numbers were in then turned on her heel and left them. She could hear them murmuring again as she walked back to the party.

There was so much distance between them when they came back, separately of course. He kept looking at her, his eyes almost hurt when she wouldn't return his gaze. Olivia avoided him like a leper, seeming to deliberately move in the opposite direction of him. Mellie smirked. She wasn't jealous per se; it as more of an envy of his lavishing attention on someone the way he had never done her. He hadn't said a word to her about catching them and she figured he wasn't planning to, not when the need for Olivia to spare him a glance was so pressing. He looked like a puppy who had just been kicked. She almost felt bad for him.

As she rode to the airport later than night, headed for a literacy rally in Santa Barbara, Mellie found herself hoping they made up. The campaign needed Olivia's Fitz.

* * *

**Fitz**

Fitz glowered as he trudged onto the bus. Between the bone-shilling cold of the rally earlier and the fact that he had found Olivia's room empty when he went to look for her before they all loaded up the bus, the day was turning to shit very quickly. He had been hoping for another moment alone with her, maybe a chance to kiss her, or get her to finally call him Fitz at the very least. It was odd that she still called him Governor, after all the looks and secret touching, but she did. He guessed that was her final wall. Once he broke it down, he was home free to have a go at her heart.

Mellie stalked toward the bus and he hurried to the back, in no mood to be bothered with whatever shit storm had her scowling. His spirits buoyed when he spotted the top of Olivia's head at the back of the bus. He walked to the second row of seats and knelt on the one closest to the window. She was looking at her phone, typing furiously. She didn't look up at him.

"Sending a love letter to your boyfriend?" he teased. She sat in the seat closest to the window, a body pillow wedged between her and the bus, a black blanket thrown over her legs, camel colored UGGs sticking out from underneath it.

She smirked at him. "I was actually telling him about this creepy old guy who won't stop looking at me."

He laughed and replied, "Hard not to look at something so beautiful."

"You're too kind, Governor," she answered, looking away from him. He could swear he saw a little color come to her cheeks.

"You're too beautiful, Ms. Pope." She gave a little, slightly crooked smile. Her phone chirped. She looked at the screen and sighed.

"Boyfriend angry?" He grinned. She smirked, rolling her eyes at him.

"Actually, it's my friend Abby. She's subletting my apartment while I'm here and she's buying plants."

"She's a monster." Olivia laughed and Fitz felt himself drowning in the sound. It was said that to make someone fall in love with you, you had to make them laugh. Olivia was laughing, but it was Fitz who was falling in love. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the night she had stood so close to him outside her hotel room, her slender index finger running over his lips.

"She brought _plants_ into my house! Plants hate me! One day with me and they're suicidal!" Fitz laughed, mostly because he couldn't believe there was any living thing that didn't want to be around Olivia Pope. She was like the sun, warm and sustaining, or like a Sunday morning, full of grace and promises of happiness yet to come. Before he could respond, Mellie appeared, clearing her throat.

"Morning Fitz, Liv." She gave a mirthless smile. Fitz almost scowled. He wondered when he had stopped liking Mellie. H doubted he had ever really loved her, really fallen for her the way he had for Olivia, but he had always sort of liked her. Now, the thought of being around her made him a little nauseas.

"Good morning Mellie." Olivia's smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Morning Mel." He stood and kissed the corner of her mouth out of habit as he stepped into the aisle. Before leaving to sit with her, Fitz turned to look at Olivia one more time. He couldn't stop himself from smiling like an idiot as he promised, "Talk to you later."

"We should talk about what we're going to wear to the rallies in Chattanooga," Mellie said as she put a pillow behind her head. He looked away from his phone briefly.

"Whatever you choose is fine," he replied. He didn't care what they wore. He just wanted to talk to Olivia. He glanced at her. She was back to texting.

"You could at least pretend to care, Fitz," she demanded. He rolled his eyes as he put his phone in his pocket. She rattled off some suggestion about gray and yellow. He personally hated yellow but he would have worn a clown suit if she'd leave him alone.

He made a noncommittal grunt. Then he remembered Olivia telling him they should wear more red to show Republican pride. _One of those little things_, she'd called it. He said, "Liv…Olivia thinks we should wear more red to show party pride."

"I look terrible in red. Maybe a little tanning lotion will help." She frowned deeply, like looking bad in red was one of life's great tragedies.

He looked back at Olivia when Mellie turned away. Olivia must have felt his eyes because she looked up at him. A glimmer of a smile flashed over her beautiful face and he felt his heart slip away from him. He wanted to spend the next few eternities staring into those eyes and being the reason for that smile.

When they pulled into the IHOP parking lot, Fitz blinked away. He stretched, glancing over at Olivia's row of seats. She was stretching awake too. He looked at Mellie. She was out cold, her sunglasses slightly askew. For a moment, he wasn't sure if she was breathing. He nudged her a few times. "Mellie, wake up. We're stopping."

She awoke, looking around in confusion. She frowned as she straightened her sunglasses. Inside, he watched as she and Olivia went to the bathroom.

"I hate breakfast food," Cyrus muttered, squinting at the restaurant's fluorescent lights.

"Really? I could eat waffles all day," Fitz replied. The interns busied themselves pushing smaller tables together. Cyrus sat on one side of the middle table and Fitz sat on the other side. Olivia appeared like a warm summer breeze, brushing over him and lifting his spirits. He called, "Hey Olivia, I saved you a seat."

He remembered the last time he had saved her a seat as she walked over to him: the smell of her hair, the heat coming off her body, her soft thigh in his hand. She smiled shyly as he stood to pull her chair out. When he pushed it in, she half-whispered her thanks. He wanted to kiss her. The look on her face said she knew he did. He stammered, "You're welcome, Liv. No problem at all. My pleasure really…"

He felt like he was sixteen again and on a date with a girl whose name he couldn't remember but who had made him terribly nervous. She laughed and he thought, _There's that sound again._ Mellie took the seat to his right and he tried to pull himself together, clearing his throat and straightening his body. He draped his arm over the back of Olivia's chair, his fingertips resting against the soft cotton of her sweater. Glancing at Mellie, he asked, "Hungry?"

"You know I hate breakfast food." Someday her face would evolve into a state of permanent smirking.

"Oh yeah." He chuckled. What didn't she hate? "I forgot."

He turned to Olivia, an unconscious smile curling his lips. "How do you feel about breakfast food?"

"I could eat pancakes all day. And don't even get me started on bacon." He laughed, thinking he could listen to her talk about bacon forever if it meant she'd never stop talking.

He replied, "I'm more of a waffle man myself."

The waiter came around to take orders. Mellie ordered a fruit plate and water. Fitz ordered waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice. Olivia got pancakes, hashbrowns, turkey bacon, and a diet coke.

"Turkey bacon?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"It's better for you than pork," she answered, raising her eyebrows at him.

"But it's not real bacon." He laughed but she only smiled. He looked from her lips to her eyes. "You don't laugh much."

"Republicans don't laugh." She actually winked at him. He almost kissed her.

"You're a Republican?" He raised his eyebrows at her again.

"As long as I'm working for one." He wasn't sure why she made him laugh so hard.

"Before this night is over, I'm gonna get a genuine belly laugh out of you," he declared. "even if I have to make a complete ass of myself to do it."

"You're certainly welcome to try." The food came out and he watched her finish her diet coke before she even touched her food. He told her his best story, an embarrassing anecdote about forgetting little Gerry at Publix. The interns were in tears. Even Cyrus was cracking up, but Fitz guessed his happiness was more of a liquid nature than just pure joy. Olivia only smiled.

Fitz stabbed his stack of waffles and announced, "Okay I don't usually do this, but I'm about to break out the rarely heard Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III joke collection. Get ready to bust a gut."

"I'll try not to die of anticipation." She smirked. She was so feisty.

"Okay. Joke one." He told her his favorite joke about a man, his wife, and their new horse. Everyone laughed, even Mellie. Olivia only slightly chuckled.

"Try again Governor," she said.

Fitz scoffed. "Oh come on. That's my best joke, Liv."

He wondered when she had become "Liv" to him. Mellie patted his arm, announcing, "I think it's hilarious, Fitz."

He glanced at her and nodded. He ate his waffles, picked at his rubbery eggs, tried to think of a joke that would get a laugh out of her. Mellie offered him a piece of watermelon. It was his favorite fruit but he didn't feel right eating off her fork in front of Olivia. A moment later, he reached over and stabbed a chunk of Olivia's hashbrowns, the irony of the moment not lost on him. After that, he took a strip of her bacon. It was as awful as he had expected it to be. He made a silly frowning face at Olivia. "That is the vilest thing I've ever tasted."

"It only tasted bad because you stole it," she replied.

He smiled innocently. It would have been the perfect moment to kiss her if his wife wasn't sitting next to him. "My sincerest apologies, ma'am."

She smiled back, her eyes laughing. "It's okay. It'll make a nice story someday. The President stole my turkey bacon."

He smiled so hard it hurt. She had called him the President. She believed in him that much. She smiled shyly. He got that powerful urge to kiss her again. He was sure everyone could sense it, especially Mellie. He was vaguely aware of her eyes boring a hole in the side of his face. He nudged her knee with his own and her smile broadened. They all ate in silence for a few minutes. When he finally thought of the perfect joke, he announced, "Okay. Joke two."

He told his funniest joke, an off-color anecdote about two best friends and a prostitute with a glass eye. Just as he got to the end of the story, he looked around the table. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the story. He asked, "Any guesses on what they saw?"

"The hooker is a man?" Mellie's face was beet red.

Fitz shook his head. He looked at Olivia. "Well?"

"You've got me. I was thinking the hooker was a man, too," she replied.

"She wasn't a man. Well she might have been. I can't say. She wasn't naked." He looked around again. The interns were all craning to look at him. He finally said, "She _was_, however, missing her glass eye."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Cyrus cracked up and the interns lost it. He looked around at everyone. Cyrus was doubled over. Mellie was laughing with her mouth covered. He finally landed on Olivia. He had never been so nervous. That was his best joke. He finally blurted, "Well?"

She smirked at him before collapsing into a fit of laughter. Tears streamed down her face as her head fell back. He had never been more elated. He announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real, live, in-person Olivia Pope laugh.

"You win Governor," she breathed as her laughter subsided.

Later on the bus, he waited until Mellie appeared to be asleep and moved to the row of seats ahead of Olivia. She was wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, looking at her phone.

"So how about that guy who cracked you up earlier?" he muttered.

She chuckled. "He's ridiculous."

"But in a good way, right?"

She looked up at him. He knew those eyes would never stop talking his breath away. She gave a small, secret smile and answered, "In the best way."

"Goodnight," he whispered after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Her breathing was even and gentle, her phone screen gone dark. He glanced between the seats and found her beautifully asleep. A few minutes later, he was asleep too.

In Chattanooga, Fitz found himself in rare form. He could do anything it seemed, once he got a handle on making Olivia laugh. They danced around each other, sharing furtive smiles and too-friendly laughs. It was like being a teenager and liking someone and knowing they like you too, but you were both too shy to act on it.

The rally was bigger than he could've ever imagined. There were thousands of people, all wearing GRANT FOR THE PEOPLE t-shirts and buttons, gathered to hear him talk. After his speech, a woman asked for a picture of him with her baby, a plump little blonde boy coincidentally named Fitzgerald too. Holding the baby made him miss his own children. The little boy babbled happily, making spit bubbles as he kicked his little white shoe clad feet, giggling when Fitz bounced him. He could have held that baby forever, breathing in his perfect baby scent. His eyes traveled over the crowd and landed on Olivia. They always landed on Olivia. He smiled at her glassy-eyed stare, his eyes telling her, _This could be us one day_.

A few days later, the polls revealed a general distaste for his and Mellie's marriage, the words "cold" and "sterile" thrown around like confetti. It wasn't conscious. They just weren't those people. At Olivia's suggestion, they started touching more. It was only a drop in the bucket as far as the voters were concerned. They would have to go big.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been a lot of talk a lot of talk about my relationship as of late. Pictures don't capture the truth, and sound bites don't do it justice. I can't tell you what to think or how to feel about it. What I can say," his eyes found Olivia, "is that I'm a man in love with an incredible woman."

The crowd erupted. Fitz couldn't take his eyes off Olivia. He had showed her his whole hand, laid it all on the table. She stared back at him, her eyes wide, her top lip quivering. After a quizzical look from Cyrus, she started clapping too. She smiled at him but it didn't reach her eyes. He walked over, proud of himself, and asked, "How was that?"

"Fantastic," she rasped. She excused herself to the bathroom, almost running as she left. A few minutes later, Cyrus went after her. Fitz stood, staring at the spot where she had just been standing. Mellie appeared at his side.

"Cute," was all she said. He blinked at her. Later, when he was able to slip out of the party the interns were having, he found Olivia in the hallway. She was arguing with someone, repeating, _Just get them out_. He guessed that it was her plant-buying friend Abby. She hung up and he moved to stand in front of her, so close he could smell liquor on her breath.

"Did you like the speech?" he asked bashfully, his hands in his pockets.

"You're insane," she answered, a silly, kind-of tipsy smile on her face.

"Love does that to you," he replied. He leaned closer, his lips centimeters from hers, his heart hammering as he tried to prepare himself for the sensation of finally kissing those lips. But he stopped. A kiss with a woman like her deserved more than a corner behind an ice machine. He murmured, "I'm married."

She whispered, "I know."

"I'm running for President." His palm cupped the curve of her jaw, his thumb rubbing her cheek.

"I know," she repeated.

"This isn't easy." She nodded. "But…just stand here with me, just for a minute. I'm not married. I'm not running for President. You're not my campaign fixer. I'm just a man, and you're just a woman. Just for a minute."

"One minute," she replied. His hand dropped from her face and found her much smaller hand, interlocking their fingers. She was so beautiful, so vulnerable. Her eyes held the world right then. He wondered how he had gone his whole life not knowing this feeling, this genuine need for someone else. He wanted to get under her skin, into her veins, and swim around inside her. He wondered how he had never known that the universe only existed in the palms of her hands and the grooves of her spine and every place that wasn't quite stable.

Someone cleared their throat and Olivia startled so violently that she almost head-butted him in the chin. Mellie stood a few feet away, staring at them like a teacher who had caught two students making out under the bleachers. She announced that the new poll numbers were in then walked away, leaving them alone again.

He looked back at Olivia. She had crossed her arms and was slightly ricking, chewing her bottom lip. Her eyes were glassy and she kept blinking like she was trying not to cry. He stepped close, intending to hold her until every worry she ever had fell away, but she stuck her hand out to stop him, her small fingers splayed on his chest. He whispered, "Liv…"

"We can't," she choked out. He didn't want her to cry. He would rip his heart out of her chest and offer it to her if it meant she would never shed a tear.

"Liv please…" he whispered. She shook her head and he understood. It was all too much, too raw, too molten at that moment. She inhaled sharply when he kissed the hollow of her throat. He would be okay if she wanted to sop, to leave him alone, so long as she knew that she had stolen his heart without meaning to, that he would never be the same because of her. No he wouldn't. He couldn't return to life as usual now that he knew about her. The light of her smile made everything else about his life insignificant. He needed her to keep all the pieces of himself together.

Back in the campaign headquarters room, she avoided him like the plague. He caught her eye once. She was talking to Cyrus but she looked up and their eyes locked. Her face softened immediately. It seemed he fell in love with her more times than he thought possible, each time a little harder than the last.

She disappeared again later on and he found himself wandering the halls looking for her. She was back in the spot where Mellie had interrupted them, her forehead pressed against the corner between the ice machine and the wall. It took him a moment to realize that she was crying. She didn't strike him as a crier, but there she was, sobs shaking her body. An ache spread through him. He was the one who was married. He was the one who had come on to her. He was the home-wrecker. She didn't deserve any of the guilt she was feeling.

He approached her quietly, taking her gently in her arms, her small body fitting against him perfectly. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him like he was the only thing rooting her to the ground. He rubbed her back firmly, but gentle enough to sooth away her sobs, whispering that she was his _sweet, sweet baby_, his tone bearing a thousand little promises. She finally stopped crying and loosened her grip on him, leaning back against the wall.

"Hi," he whispered, a small smile settling on his face. It seemed he couldn't _not_ smile around her.

"Hi," she replied, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand. He offered he handed her his handkerchief. She took it, dabbing her wet eyes.

"Please don't get all gussied up on my account," he joked. She laughed and he hoped the sound never lost its effect on him. He leaned his forearm against the wall above her head, dropping his other hand to take hold of hers. "I was wondering if you could spare another minutes for a guy who's gone a little crazy over you."

"I suppose I could," she said softly, smiling just so.

He leaned down and finally touched his lips to hers. It was just a kiss, something everyone had done at least once, but it was everything he had ever dreamed of and even more than that. Time and place fell away and all that remained was her beautiful mouth and the enchanting scent of her hair. After a small eternity, she took her lips away, breathing unsteadily. She brought her free hand to the back of her neck, blushing furiously.

He knew the grin on her face was lopsided and silly but he didn't care, not when she was looking at him with those eyes. He joked, "So does this mean I've earned your vote, ma'am?"

"Not even a little, Governor." She had yet to call him Fitz. He would have to find a way to get her to do it. She straightened his tie and declared, "You'll have to earn my vote like everyone else."

"It would be my pleasure, Ms. Pope." And there was that magical sound again, ringing his ears for what he hoped was forever.

* * *

**Olivia**

Olivia didn't understand why spring in South Carolina was so chilly as she hugged herself on the way out of the hotel. By the time she reached the bus, she was practically frozen. Cyrus was already on the bus, sitting on the third to last row of seats, pouring what she guessed was bourbon into a steaming cup of coffee. She checked her watch. 5:37 PM.

"Well it _is_ 5 o'clock so I'm not gonna comment Cy," she joked.

He laughed. "Happy Hour is from 4 to 6 and it would be almost unpatriotic to uphold that tradition."

Olivia chuckled as she moved to the last row of seats. She put her bad on the aisle seat, settling herself on the other two. Her phone buzzed as she got comfortable. It was picture message from Abby. She stood outside the D.C. flower mart, holding an armful of leafy plants. Olivia shook her head as she quickly typed a reply.

OLIVIA: I don't do plants. Too needy. Don't take them home.

ABBY: Too late. They're everywhere. So pretty!

OLIVIA: Need to be gone before I get home. I'll kill them

ABBY: Is that a threat against my babies?

OLIVIA: No. Just the truth. I make them suicidal

"Sending a letter to your boyfriend?" Olivia looked up in surprise. She hadn't even heard him join her. He knelt on the row of seats between her and Cyrus who had drifted off into a tipsy nap. She smiled at him, avoiding those eyes. Olivia was never one to get all sentimental over a mere by-product of genetics, but she had never seen eyes so blue, so clear, so terrifyingly beautiful that they made her horribly uncomfortable. Governor Grant made her uneasy in general. He was too handsome, too warm, too funny, too everything.

"I was actually telling him about this creepy old guy who won't stop looking at me." He had been watching her since that night she'd crossed a line, allowed herself the sinful decadence of touching his beautiful face. Ever since then, she had been thinking about the stubble of his jawline, the smell of coffee on his breath, the sound of his shallow breathing as her fingers traced his succulent lips. He had done the same to her in the elevator, and she wondered if their clandestine touching haunted him the way it haunted her.

He laughed. It was one of the few sounds that plucked at her heart strings mercilessly. He replied, "Hard not to look at something so beautiful."

If he was going to be so innocently flirtatious, Olivia was going to need to block out a few minutes each day to be alone and allow her heart to stop palpitating. Smiling at him, her cheeks burning, she murmured, "You're too kind, Governor."

"You're too beautiful, Ms. Pope." She looked away from his eyes, wondering why it was she couldn't hold her ground with him.

Her phone chirped. She looked at the phone and sighed. Abby had sent her a series of pictures of the plants in various places. He asked, "Boyfriend crazy?"

"Actually it's my friend Abby. She's subletting my apartment while I'm here and she's buying plants."

"She's a monster." _He has to stop doing that_, Olivia thought as she watched him laugh.

"She brought _plants_ into my house! Plants hate me! A day with me and they're suicidal!" He laughed harder and she wanted to touch him again, to trace every part of his beautiful face. She wanted to number and love each of his eyelashes, to memorize every little detail of his lips until she knew them better than her own.

Mellie cleared her throat and broke their spell. She gave a thin smile and chirped, "Morning Fitz, Liv."

"Good morning Mellie," Olivia replied, smiling politely.

"Morning Mel," Fitz said in a decidedly clipped tone. He moved into the aisle and kissed the corner of her mouth. Before he moved rows, he looked back at her and smiled, "Talk to you later."

She wished he wouldn't. She watched them interact for a moment. Fitz looked like someone had popped his birthday balloon. Mellie chattered about clothes. Olivia heard him tell Mellie her suggestion about wearing more red, and remembered his hand absently on her waist while she'd talked. Apparently done talking, Mellie turned her attention to the window. Fitz looked back at her and gave the smallest smile. Olivia smiled back, wondering when she'd become a giddy teenager. Fitz made her moony and sentimental, the kind of woman who hung onto every word that came out of his mouth. She could spend forever staring at him, learning every little thing about him, falling harder than she'd ever dreamed possible. Most men were a drop in the ocean. Fitz was the ocean in a drop.

Olivia stretched awake when she felt the bus come to a stop. She blinked rapidly. It was dark. She wondered how long she'd been asleep, why she was so tired, why she had dreamed of his smoky voice. She stood and stretched, blinking at IHOP's blindingly bright sign. They all shuffled off the bus and she headed for the bathroom. She was surprised when Mellie emerged from a stall while she was washing her hands.

"I hate breakfast food," Mellie muttered as she walked to the sink. She wasn't sure what it was—if it even had anything to do with her feelings for Fitz—but something about Mellie made her very uncomfortable. There was a certain iciness to the woman that nothing seemed to penetrate. Not even Fitz.

"Really? I can eat pancakes all day," she replied. She dried her hands then checked her makeup.

"Brunch I can manage, but breakfast? Never," Mellie said as she ran her fingers through her hair. Olivia pretended she didn't see Mellie appraising her with curious eyes.

"Maybe you're just not a morning person."

"Understatement." Mellie's chuckle was humorless. It seemed no time of the day suited Mellie. She looked like death warmed over at that moment: no makeup, a permanent scowl, her rumpled tracksuit. She was moving around like she was being shepherded to the electric chair.

They left the bathroom, Mellie trudging a few steps behind her. When they reached the "large party" area where the interns were pushing tables together, they found Fitz and Cyrus opposite each other at the middle table. Fitz looked up and grinned at her good-naturedly.

"Hey Liv, I saved you a seat," he called. She remembered the last time he had done that, the warmth of his fingertips of her shoulder, the gentleness of his palm cupping her thigh. She took a deep breath and walked over to sit with him. It occurred to her that he should have saved his wife a seat if anyone, but a part of her was flattered by the fact that he considered her before anyone else. He stood to pull her chair out then pushed it in for her when she sat down.

"Thank you." Her voice was small, almost not her own.

He blushed as he sat next to her. "You're welcome, Liv. No problem at all. My pleasure really…"

She laughed at his adorable nervousness and he blushed an even deeper shade of red. He stiffened, the color leaving his face, when Mellie plopped down next to him. He glanced at her, dryly asked, "Hungry?

She blinked at him then smirked. "You know I hate breakfast food."

"Oh yeah." He chuckled and his fingertips fluttered against her shoulder, bringing back a familiar warmth. He was like a ghost, his hands haunting every place he touched on her long after they were gone. "I forgot."

He turned to look at her, asked, "How do you feel about breakfast food?"

"I could eat pancakes all day. And don't even get me started on bacon." she answered, smiling at him. His fingertips brushed her shoulder again. _He definitely has to stop that_, she thought. He laughed and Olivia bit her bottom lip thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him at that moment, slow and hard enough to pull his incisors from his mouth.

He replied, "I'm more of a waffle man myself."

The waiter came around and took orders. Fitz smirked at her when she ordered turkey bacon to go with her pancakes and hashbrowns. He snickered like an adolescent, teased, "Turkey bacon?"

"It's better for you than pork." She wanted to brush his lone Superman curl back from his forehead.

"But it's not real bacon," he argued, laughing like a child. She just smiled at his handsome face. He looked at her lips then moved up to her eyes. "You don't laugh a lot."

"Republicans don't laugh." She gave him a wink. His smile twitched. The truth was that she laughed easily, but not with him. It wasn't that he wasn't funny. It was just that he was so different from the people she dealt with every day, so unremarkable in his innocence, so beautiful and clean in his normalcy that she was usually too awe-struck by his mere presence to laugh.

He laughed and asked, "You're a Republican?"

"As long as I'm working for one." He and Cyrus laughed like they had never heard anything so funny.

"Before this night is over, I'm gonna get a genuine belly laugh out of you," he declared, fixing her with those eyes. "Even if I have to make a complete ass of myself to do it."

"You're welcome to try." The food came around and every happily dug in. Olivia hadn't realized how hungry she was until she started eating. He told a cute story about forgetting little Gerry at Publix. Cyrus was cracking up but his red face told Olivia he had his flask to thank for his jovial mood. Olivia only smiled. It was a funny story but she wouldn't be won so easily.

He smirked at her as if he knew she wanted to laugh but wouldn't out of spite. Stabbing his stack of waffles, he announced, "Okay I don't usually do this, but I'm about to break out the rarely heard Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III joke collection. Get ready to bust a gut."

Olivia hoped he never stopped trying to make her laugh. She smirked at him. "I'll try not to die of anticipation."

He told an anecdote about a husband and wife and their new horse. Everyone laughed, even Mellie. A smile curling her lips, she said, "Try again, Governor."

He scoffed cutely. "Oh come on, Liv. That's my favorite joke."

Olivia wondered when she had become "Liv" to him. She liked it. It seemed intimate, but then again, everything he said to her sounded intimate. She frowned when Mellie patted his arm, announcing that she thought the joke was hilarious. She was surprised at the pang of jealousy. Fitz wasn't hers, but that didn't make him Mellie's either. She felt a little mollified when he glanced at Mellie briefly and nodded almost dismissively. He started eating his waffles, picked at his eggs. Mellie offered him a chunk of watermelon but he declined. A moment later, his fork found its way onto Olivia's plate, taking a chunk of hashbrowns, chewing happily. She smirked at him when he took a strip of bacon.

He frowned beautifully as he chewed it. "This is the vilest thing I've ever tasted."

"It only tastes bad because you stole it!" she teased.

He smiled innocently, put on his best puppy dog eyes. "My sincerest apologies, ma'am."

"I guess it's okay. It'll make a nice story someday. The President stole my turkey bacon." If calling him the President brought that kind of smile to his face, Olivia would never stop saying it. His eyes told her that he wanted to kiss her. Mellie's eyes told her that she wanted to slap him, flaming with rage as she stabbed a grape with too much force. Olivia felt her face go hot when he nudged her knee with his. He would have to be more subtle. No, he would have to stop so she could stop. They all ate in silence for a few minutes before Fitz perked up.

"Okay. Joke two." He proceeded to tell a suggestive joke about two men and a prostitute with a glass eye. Olivia was eagerly awaiting the punchline but she kept her expression unreadable. He looked around the table and asked, "Any guesses on what they saw?"

The interns all shrugged. Mellie, her face flushed, suggested, "The hooker is a man?"

That was what Olivia had been thinking but she hadn't said anything. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking he had piqued her curiosity. He shook his head at Mellie then looked at her. Olivia wanted to bite his bottom lips. She shrugged said, "You've got me. I was thinking the hooker was a man too."

"She wasn't a man. Well she might have been. I can't say. She wasn't naked." He looked around, his smile smug as his eyes came to a stop on her. She looked around. The interns were on pins and needles. Cyrus's eyes were wide with anticipation, but bleary with bourbon. Fitz finally said, "She _was_, however, missing her glass eye."

Cyrus was the first to crack up, breaking the stunned silence. Even Mellie was shaking with laughter, her mouth covered demurely. He looked at her with earnest anticipation. He blinked his eyes wide, and blurted, "Well?"

She couldn't hold it together anymore. The laugh erupted from her unexpectedly. She had never thought of herself as one for locker room jokes but coming from him, it was nothing short of hilarious. He whooped, happily announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real, live, in-person Olivia Pope laugh!"

"You win, Governor," she breathed as she wiped her eyes.

Later on the bus, while she was reading emails, he crept to the row of seats in front of hers. She looked at Mellie. She appeared to be asleep but she was wearing her sunglasses so Olivia couldn't be sure.

"So how about that guy who cracked you up earlier?" he asked as he wrapped himself in his maroon YALE blanket like a burrito.

She laughed quietly, remembering his elated face. "He's ridiculous."

"But in a good way right?" She looked up at him. His eyes were almost gray in the near blackness of the back of the bus.

She gave him a small smile, his crooked grin plucking at her heartstrings, and replied, "In the best way."

They settled into a comfortable silence. She could hear his breathing evening out as her eyes fluttered closed. Just as she left that magical place between dreaming and awake, she heard him whisper goodnight. It almost sounded like _I love you_.

Fitz was clicking on all cylinders in Chattanooga. He was so confident, so buoyant. Olivia had never been so smitten with him. Every little joke he told her was perfect and would make her laugh whether she wanted to or not. They danced around each other all the time, trying desperately not to act as giddy as they felt. It wasn't that he made her weak in the knees. He made her forget that she had knees.

The rally was enormous, thousands of people wearing GRANT FOR THE PEOPLE gear. They chanted his name as he walked onto the stage, waving and swaggering like he was already the President. Olivia hung onto every word of his speech though she couldn't have remembered its topic if her life depended on it. He talked but she didn't hear any sound, just saw his lips moving and his hands gesturing, devastatingly handsome in a smoke gray suit. Olivia nearly fainted when a woman offered him her baby as he mingled with voters after his speech. The little boy, blonde and chubby with fat rolls like a shar pei or the Michelin man, babbled happily, blowing spit bubbles as he laughed at Fitz's bouncing and cooing. He grabbed at Fitz's Republican elephant tie pin and Fitz laughed. He was so happy, so content, cooing at the little boy, laughing sweetly enough to make Olivia's flutter when the little boy took hold of Fitz's finger with his little fat fist. Olivia felt herself fall, hard, as she watched him. Her womb ached with emptiness. It was so wrong, the earthquake he set off in her stomach when he locked eyes with her, wordlessly saying, _This could be us one day_. Olivia had to look away, a hot lump in her throat. She didn't remember falling in love being so painful when she was younger.

A few days later, after the polls revealed a general distaste for Fitz and Mellie's marriage, Olivia was put to the greatest test to date. She told them to touch each other, to sell their love like their lives depended on it. She never knew she would feel so gutted staring at him stare at someone else—even if it was just for the cameras. It didn't make any difference to the voters. It still looked too contrived. There was just no intimacy. Mellie always looked like she was ready to push at least an arm's length away, and he always looked like a child being forced to smile in a school picture, his hand awkwardly placed somewhere on his wife's body. They were running out of time to sell the "American family" bit. It was time for a Hail Mary. Olivia and Cyrus managed to throw together a rally in record time. She and Fitz talked endlessly about what he needed to say. It couldn't be a speech. There couldn't be any note cards. It had to be completely organic.

"You can't wear that tie," Olivia proclaimed, stopping Fitz as he headed for the stage. The tie was blue with red stripes, matching nicely with his blue suit. She made him remove the blazer, thinking dismally that democrats had the edge in the color game. Blue was crisp and sophisticated. A red suit was only acceptable if one was planning to impersonate Yosemite Sam, and it was questionable then. She took the tie off, and commandeered a plain red silk one from a bewildered intern.

"Give the governor your tie! Take it off! Come on!" she accosted, eying the young man frantically as he loosened the tie. She slipped it around Fitz's neck after tossing the intern the blue one. Fitz grinned at her affectionately as she retied the tie's knot. She ignored the fireworks in her stomach, set off by the smell of his cologne and the sweet mint on his breath. She admonished, "Remember to smile. Everyone loves a good love-struck smile. They're gonna ask you regular stuff and James is gonna ask you about your marriage last. Answer him just like we practiced then get off stage. We need to end on that note."

"Can do ma'am," he murmured. His hand ever so gingerly grazed her hip and she jumped away from him like he was on fire. He only smiled wider.

Olivia watched him take the stage. He answered everyone's questions congenially, his smile easy. When James' turn came, Fitz glanced at her, gave the faintest wink. Her legs turned to jelly. James asked his question, loudly and clearly so everyone would stop and pay attention. The crowd hushed. Fitz leaned on the podium, fixing the crowd with those gorgeous sapphire eyes. He was a whirlpool and she was pulling her in. She was drowning and she didn't want to be saved, exulting in the way he took her breath away. Olivia struggled to keep from sagging under the weight of her hammering heart. Cyrus glanced at her and she was sure he could hear it beating against her ribs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been a lot of talk about my relationship as of late. Pictures don't capture the truth and sound bites don't do it justice. I can't tell you what to think or how to feel about it. What I can say," his eyes drifted to her as she stood to the left of the stage and Olivia said a silent prayer that Mellie was somewhere near as he went on, "is that I'm a man in love with an incredible woman."

The crowd erupted. Olivia and Fitz stared at each other. Cyrus looked at her quizzically and she started clapping. She gave a weak smile, her eyes vulnerable. She needed to be alone, or just away from his eyes for a moment. He walked off stage, waving at his supporters, and came to a stop before her.

"How was that?" he asked, smiling bashfully.

"Fantastic," she croaked. Her eyes were so glassy with tears that his face swam out of focus for a moment before she blinked hard. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt like crying but the sob burning her throat told her that she needed to get away from him quickly. She managed to escape, excusing herself to the bathroom. She locked the door and leaned against it. A sob erupted from her, burning her throat and searing her stomach.

"Liv?" She jumped at the sound of Cyrus's voice.

"Just a minute," she called, hoping her voice sounded normal.

"Open the door," he said in a low, knowing voice. She pushed herself onto her feet, turning to unlock the door. Cyrus slipped inside, locking the door behind him. He pulled out his flask and held it out to her. Olivia didn't really care for liquor but she accepted it, hoping it would steady her nerves. She took a long drink and it burned like hellfire going down, but she took another anyway.

"I had an inkling. He's a puppy around you," Cyrus said with a sigh. "And you, you smile at him like somebody jammed a hanger in your mouth. I figured it was a harmless crush. But then, watching him fall all over himself for you at dinner, and watching you eat it up, I knew. God a'mighty, Liv…"

"I know, I know," she replied in a small voice. She took another hearty sip of the liquor. Her body was warm inside. "I wanted to stop, but now…"

"You're in love. Both of you," he murmured. She passed him the flask. He took a deep drink. "Like teenagers."

Olivia nodded solemnly and he passed the flask back, moving to stand next to her as she leaned against the counter. She looked at him with broken eyes and he squeezed her hand. He shook his head, licked his lips, muttered, "Shitfire, Liv."

"Shitfire, Cy," she replied. She cleaned her face and they went back to the little hot room where the interns were popping bottles of cheap champagne. Later, while arguing with Abby in the hotel hallway about getting rid of the plants, he appeared at her side. When she hung up, he moved to stand in front of her.

"Did you like the speech?" He asked. She wanted to tell him that it had ripped her insides apart but he smiled so sweetly, so proud of himself, that she smiled back.

She shook her head, declared, "You're insane."

"Love does that to you," he replied, leaning in. Olivia realized he was going to kiss her. Her legs were going to give out. She knew it. The minute his lips touched hers, she was going to go up in flames like a tinderbox. He stopped, his mouth so close to hers that she could smell the champagne on his breath. She breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he didn't smell the liquor. He murmured, "I'm married."

"I know," she whispered. There wasn't a moment when she wasn't painfully aware of the fact that he wasn't hers.

"I'm running for President." His hand cupped the curve of her jaw, his thumb rubbing her cheek. She brought her hand to his chest, a lump in her throat, her heart braced for what she knew was coming. This was it. This was the end. He had gotten his head together and was letting her go. She blinked hard, prepared for herself for the goodbye. She had known goodbyes all her life. People's backs as they left her were all she was used to seeing.

"I know," she whimpered. She didn't want to cry. Crying would only let him know how much he meant to her, how broken she would be after he was gone.

"This isn't easy." She nodded, words strangled in her throat. "But…just stand here with me for a minute. I'm not married. I'm not running for President. And you're not my campaign fixer. I'm just a man, and you're just a woman. For one minute."

"One minute." She would have agreed to anything at that moment, as long as it wasn't goodbye. His hands dropped from her face to her side where it found hers. He stared at her and she wondered how she had stumbled upon something so intense.

Someone cleared their throat and Olivia jumped so hard she almost head-butted Fitz in the chin. Mellie stood a few feet away, staring at them. Olivia felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She prayed that she didn't throw up. The bourbon had burned like hell going down and she guessed it was the same coming up.

"The new poll numbers are in," Mellie announced, her voice even. Olivia exhaled heavily when Mellie walked away. She was fighting tears again, rocking slightly. She splayed her hand on his chest, stopping him from taking her in his arms when he advanced on her. If he had held her at that moment, he would have felt her slowly coming undone.

"Liv…" he whispered.

She couldn't look at him, not when her tears were so close to spilling over. She choked out, "We can't."

"Liv please…" She shook her head. It was too much, too raw, too molten. He leaned in and kissed the hollow of her throat. She inhaled sharply, choking down a sob.

She avoided him in the campaign room, making a deliberate effort to move in the opposite direction. He caught her eye once and a tsunami destroyed the city in her stomach. She felt herself fall for him, harder than the last time, and wondered if there would ever be a moment when he didn't take her breath away, didn't make her feel like he'd hung the moon. After an hour of avoiding him, she went back to the spot where Mellie had caught them. She leaned against the corner between the ice machine and the wall and closed her eyes. She finally allowed herself to cry—for her, for him, for Mellie, for everyone who had ever been so stuck.

Olivia didn't protest when hands took her into strong arms. She knew it was him. No one else's touch could put her back together and pull her apart simultaneously. She held him tighter than she intended, wanting to memorize the feeling of him in her arms in case she never felt it again. He rubbed her back, whispering that she was his _sweet, sweet baby_. Her sobs finally subsided and she loosened her grip on him, leaning back against the wall to look at him.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice bearing a thousand little promises.

"Hi," she replied, mirroring his smile as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He offered her his handkerchief and she took it, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please don't get all gussied up on my account," he joked. She laughed as he leaned his forearm against the wall above her head, moving into her personal space. His other hand found hers. His breath was warm on her lips as he requested, "I was hoping you had another minute for a guy who's a little crazy for you."

"I suppose so," she replied. She couldn't _not_ smile at him. Her eyes closed when his lips found hers. Electricity shot from her toes up her spine to the crown of her head. Her fingers found the lusciously soft curls at the back of his head, weaving into them. Only when she was light-headed did she pull away, thinking how magical it would have been to hook her lungs up to him, to breathe only Fitz. She blushed so hot she was sure her face was crimson, and brought a hand to the back of her neck.

He gave a crooked smile, and joked, "So does this mean I've earned your vote?"

"Not even a little, Governor," she replied. She never called him Fitz out loud. It was too intimate. Something about it made her feel like she was calling him hers when he wasn't. She straightened his tie, remarking, "You'll have to earn my vote like everyone else."

"It would be my pleasure, Ms. Pope." She laughed and he did too. She prayed that sound never stopped taking her breath away.


End file.
